Better Living through DNA

"Your mother and I have something to tell you." They were huddled on the windowseat by the piano, all four of their hands interlaced tightly between them as if to focus and intensify their parental resolve.

He'd hated the piano lessons from the very beginning. The whole thing felt unnatural. His fingers looked embarrassingly slender and girl-like against the keys, and the noise they made grated in ears that craved a different sound. Locked in the music room to practice, he marched armies of clarinet reeds and pitch pipes across the music stand in battle.

It caused endless fights with his parents. He found their anger baffling and exhilarating, and pushed them further and further. Now it had come to this.

"Bill was more than your brother," his mother said. "If only you could have known him, you'd understand."

"But that's just the point," his father pressed on. "You see, you are him. Flesh and blood. Cell by cell."

"If only you could have heard the beautiful music he made, you'd understand why we had to do it," his mother said. "So young," she added tearfully. "Too young."

"And it wasn't cheap, either," his old man said. "The least you could do is show a little gratitude." A forced laugh failed to make a joke of it.

"We loved Bill so," his mother said. "How could we love you any less?"

Alone in the music room, he stared at the pale fingers on the keyboard. They didn't move at all.